


Even Grounds

by Piece_of_shit



Category: Star Wars: Jedi: Fallen Order (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Banter, F/M, Non-Canon Worldbuilding, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27852874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piece_of_shit/pseuds/Piece_of_shit
Summary: Cal had faced the Ninth Sister and survived. He had faced Trilla and survived. He had faced Darth Vader (and ran like hell) and survived. He had survived the Purge, Bracca, Oggo Bogdo, falling from cliffs, tombs, carnivorous plant life, Cordova's cryptic hints, everything.He survived. But now, it's time he start living.
Relationships: Cal Kestis/Merrin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I noticed there's not a lot of Cal/Merrin fics out there, so I figured I'd take a shot at it. This'll mostly be moments during and between adventures where the crew bonds together, and where Cal wants to know more ;)

Cal wasn’t sure what to do now.

As much as Cere said otherwise, he didn’t have much choice. As a Jedi in an era of the Empire, his options were run, hide, or fight; but there was only so many places he could run to, only so many ways he could hide, and only so many times he could win a fight.

The holocron was destroyed, and with it, the dream of rebuilding the Jedi order. But that was all it could ever be: a dream. The younglings would’ve had the same life as he did now, and it was _exhausting._ He wouldn’t wish it on anybody.

Cere had been right though. He adapted well to this life, and practically thrived when he was cutting through Imp armies, or climbing through countless death traps, or sneaking through tombs. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the life he’d led since leaving Bracca, but the fear was there.

Fear of black leather uniform, red saber, and kneeling to a Sith.

He should meditate on that fear. Master Tapal would tell him to let go of that fear, release it into the Force, else it would weigh him down and drag him into the Dark side.

“You have been staring at the bleeding gut for a while now.”

Merrin’s voice startled him, and he jerked to face her. There was a very faint smile on her face. (Her expressions were always slight, and it had taken him a while to identify them, and even then, he was half-sure he was seeing things.) “Got lost in thought,” he said to explain, taking a deep breath and trying to relax his shoulders. That always seemed to be his default anxious tick.

“I figured,” she said. She nodded at the plant. “My people believe this plant is bad luck. It would not do to stare at it too long.”

In the kitchen, Greez practically froze in place, kettle in one hand, tea bauble in another, and cup in a third. “Bad luck?” he asked. Cal found his expression hilariously despaired and horrified, but didn’t say anything.

“Yes. It is said that the plant is a manifestation of the Viscera, one of the 14, uh…” She stopped, looking off for a second. “I do not know if there is a word in your language. It is not a god, but it is a similar entity, and meant to instill a certain kind of fear in sentients.”

“So you’re telling me, that plant is a piece of an eldritch horror from Dathomir?” he asked, voice pitching up and getting louder. “I knew I shouldn’t have grown those seeds Cal got me.” He put the cup and kettle down on their respective coasters. “Damn my ambition for best terrarium. What the hell was I thinking?”

Merrin didn’t seem to be watching Greez’s reaction, so she must be serious. (Really, it was the only way Cal figured to tell if she was joking. Her serious and joking affections were identical.) “Greez, the plant hasn’t hurt anybody yet, I doubt it ever will,” Cal said before Greez could get out his spade. “It’s harmless, right Merrin?”

“Hm?” She looked back at them, now focused again. One of her hands was pressing against her mouth, the other arm across her torso. “Of course it is. I would’ve said otherwise, upon boarding.”

Greez stopped his movements, and let out his breath, and sagged in relief against his table. That definitely had Cal smiling.

“So the plant is just…a plant?”

Merrin nodded. “Yes, though a smelly one. I am impressed with your ventilation system for it to prevent any odors from spreading across the ship.”

That had Greez smiling, proud enough that Cal could even sense a little echo ringing in the Force. “You remember that oxygen processing unit you and I were looking at on Zeffo? I’ve been keeping it spotless for years now. That’s why I’ve been telling you, you’ve got to keep your parts clean, otherwise the entire ship goes to hell.” He went back to making his tea.

Merrin let out a soft ‘ah’ and nodded again. “I had wondered if there was reason for your level of cleanliness. I see why now.”

“Trust me, there’s a method to the madness.”

“Most of the time,” Call threw in, smiling.

“Hey, if it gets your sorry butt from Point A to Point B, I don’t see why you’d care.” One of Greez’s hands waved over at him, while the others were pouring a sweetened syrup into the mug. “You worked in scrapping, that’s a whole ‘nother field from flying and maintenance.”

“You were a scrapper?” Merrin asked, tilting her head slightly. That always made her silver hair swish slightly. It was always nice to watch. “I thought you were a Jedi.”

Ah. This hadn’t come up yet. “After the Purge, I went into hiding. Had to make a living somehow, and since I’d landed on Bracca, it was the best option I had.”

“I see. I do not understand much of a scrapper’s life, but it must’ve been hard.” Cal had never been good at sensing others’ use of the Force, but he could feel the slight brush of something soft and cool.

“It was. I was still young at the time.” He’d been, what, 12 life-cycles old? 13? Young, but not too young to be put to work. Prauf was the one to take him in and show him the ropes, and Cal doubted he would’ve lived without the other’s kindness. “I’d probably still be there if these two hadn’t come and pick me up.” He gestured with a smile towards Cere in the living area with her instrument, and Greez now sipping on his tea.

Greez didn’t want to take that sitting down. “It was a lot more eventful than he’s suggesting, trust me.” He was shooting a look at Cal. “You know, the Inquisitors on our tail, you trying to jump off a speeding train, my excellent flying.”

Merrin had that little smile again. “Very exciting, I’m sure. I hope we do not have to use such maneuvers again.”

Of course, they had to use such maneuvers again very, very soon.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d ended up in the Outer Rim, overhearing transmissions of smugglers with a supply of death sticks to sell to the Hutts.

Cere had been quiet after relaying the transmission details, something Dark in her look. It was a pretty short discussion. They would be going after them.

Cal normally went out into the field alone, but Cere sneaked around the docks with him at her insistence. Cal had never seen her so unwilling to negotiate, daring Cal to argue against her determination of stone. It made Cal wonder who was taken from her by the drug.

Their window of opportunity was very small. As soon as the dealers disembarked on Rishi, Cal and Cere crept silently onto the ship. The remaining crew members barely put up a fight, and it was easy to find the stores of the drug, kept cool in large insulated crates. 

The refrigerated air spilled out of the crate, light radiating from the red, orange and yellow liquid. If Cal wasn’t mistaken, this was around a million credits worth of drugs. He felt equal parts awed and horrified.

Cere clenched her fist, something flashed hot and angry through the Force, and rows and columns of the glass tubes shattered, the bright liquid spilling in the crates and glass littering the racks. The smell wasn’t strong, but it was a nasty thing that made his nose scrunch. How the hell did people consume this stuff? Did they inject it? Because he couldn’t imagine any species with stomachs that could keep it down.

He didn’t associate with any of the addicts that worked in the scrapyards, but there was one who seemed nice on days they made it to work, a Twi’lek he never knew the gender of. Prauf had told him sadly that that’s how they start out. They start taking it, on the side, for fun, and then they start missing their shifts. Then they get moody and snappy with the people around them. Then it gets visible; hair or scales falling out, skin cracking or eyes getting bloodshot. Then you don’t see them around anymore, and if you do, you don’t recognize them.

Which again made him wonder who Cere had lost.

He didn’t ask, and Cere didn’t share. They made it back to the Mantis without incident. Cere heard chatter on the comms a minute later, as they were exiting the atmosphere. The Hutts would be exacting their justice for the deal-gone-wrong and there would be fewer dealers peddling that poison.

They went into hyperspace towards their next destination, Cal and Cere on watch while Greez and Merrin went to bed. Cal was focusing on folding paper into shapes using the Force, an exercise Master Tapal would do during his meditations. Cal had never managed it imitate it properly until last week.

Cere finally said her first words since landing on Rishi. “It was my mother.”

Cal didn’t know what to say. He could sense pain and anger at the injustice, but no words would calm that hurt. “I’m sorry,” was all that came out.

Cere kept staring at her saber, or rather, Trilla’s saber. Another brush of Darkness seemed to pass through her. He watched her face, eyes closed, slow breathing, and the ghost of a grimace still haunting her features. He still couldn’t think of what to say.

Instead, he handed her his finished product from paper-folding. It was a flower, something (non-predatory) from the Origin Tree with wide, webbed petals. Cere smiled softly and took the paper into her hand. She looked at it from several angles, appreciation in her gaze. Then, with a brush in the Force, she suspended it in the air, a non-existent breeze fluttering at the paper petals. The Dark was gone from her aura, as well as the grimace and flashes of pain.

He didn’t know much about Cere, and he didn’t have the finely-tuned Force senses to read her exact emotions, so he still wasn’t sure what she needed to hear.

But now, he had an idea. “If you want, we can keep hunting down drug traders.” It was as good a mission as any.

Cere had a look of certainty in her eyes as she looked back at him and nodded. One he’d been missing since they’d found and destroyed the holocron.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone get the Magnus Archives reference? I might be stealing content for Nightsister worldbuilding, we'll see.


End file.
